


Seer Cosmaerulea/Arsonist Sapphire

by morbidOpalescence



Series: Indigobloodline: Lakbay [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternia, Ancestor-Era, Ancestors (Homestuck), Character Death, F/F, Hemoism, Implied Sexual Content, Rainbow drinker, The Signless' Movement, Trolls (Homestuck), a fancestor in 2017!, death by psionics, dream date: burning down a lowblood hive cluster with your rainbow drinker matesprit, fancestor, fantroll, i guess, this is my first fucking fanfic how do i tag this, what, what a rare find!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 10:01:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbidOpalescence/pseuds/morbidOpalescence
Summary: In which a hitmenace highblood expected to live several sweeps dies at 40 due to strong psionic blasts and lowblood confidence incited by a nubby-horned mutant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> -this is my first fucking fic so prepare for bullshit

**== > Escape the caverns.**

Oh? What's that bright light? It seems far away from all those other grubs and scary tall people. You better go towards it.

**== > Find your lusus. **

Lusus? What's a lusus? You're just here in this moist forest, looking for food.

Well, you found some berries, but they didn't- SQUEAKSQUEAKSQUEAK

There's a wild purrbeast and it's out to- What's that sound? It sounds so...nice! The purrbeast is gone, and there's now a squawkbeast! She sings to you, so melodic, so wonderful. She's so big! She's about 24 hands, but your little wriggler mind doesn't know that yet.

There's another sound of rolling wheels and voices. You can see the purrbeast around the corner of your eye.

Quickly! Your lusus sings. (Wait, she's your lusus?) She carries you on her back and into the trees.

She reeks of love and protection.

**== > **

You find a shiny blue rock! Your lusus says it’s called a sapphire. The color of your eyes, and the color of your blood.

You string the rock on an innocuous necklace.

**== >**

She teaches you how to concentrate on keeping your young vision in your current location instead of aimlessly wandering around through space.

She sings soothing songs to you whenever your wriggler head hurts from overexerting your little abilities.

You may not be a psiioniic, you may not be a prophet, but you are a seer.

And you’re her seer.

**== >**

Your name is Ocvida Lakbay, and are 9 sweeps old. You're just leaving the town to go back to your hive. You have a job now, as the Apathistant of a ceruleanblood. He pays you quite decently. You wonder why you work for him, but you remember that he is sweeps older than you. You also remember that he gives few fucks about the hemospectrum. You do your job, and he leaves you alone.

You hear Sapphosine, your lusus' singing her dear song. You're not that far into the forest yet. Perhaps she wanted to greet you? Or maybe she has once again exhausted your supply of hopcreatures...

That is not a song.

That is a cry.

**== >**

You retrieve your weapon, which is a sword. It's not the best, but maybe if you can find a smithorrifier to forge you a new one, you can have something legendary to pass on to your descendant.

You run towards your lusus. She runs to you.

A filthy rustblood raises his knife and- she's dead.

Your lusus is dead.

And she was killed. By a filthy. Fucking. Rustblood.

That piece of shit has one thing coming for him.

**== > Ocvida: Retaliate.**

After one mutilation of a currently dead lowblood, you kneel in front of the corpse of your lusus.

You expected that you would lose your lusus eventually, but not this early.

If only you had done a sweep of the area.

If only you had put your mutant highblood brain and eyes to use.

If only you had skewered a disgraceful, disappointing, idiotic, bulgelicking, Empire-dooming filthy rustblood.

If only.

_"Hey, kid."_

A voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

_"Quit the waterworks."_

You put your hand to your cheek. Your finger recieves blue tears in return.

The oliveblood in a dapper suit comes up to you and hands you card. Rather bold for him, to address a highblood with such blatant disrespect.

_"We could use someone like you."_

In the blink of an eye, and he's gone.

You look at the card.

A smirk graces your lips.

**== > Join the Midnight Crew.**

Your name is Ocvida Lakbay, and you are 12 sweeps old. What are you talking about? There is no Midnight Crew here. It is your third sweep since being hired by your superiors, into an organization that isn't too...Empire-regulated. This is an organization of hitmenaces, with trolls all over the age line and hemospectrum. Your superiors task you with a target, and you deliver.

You don't understand why someone needs a hitmenace to kill someone else. Sure, there could be highbloods who are across the galaxy and want someone on the planet dead, but those who can't kill even if the object of desired death is in front of them...Well, you wonder how they survived all those sweeps.

~~_(Laughassassins scare you.)_ ~~

Sometimes they use you as an informant, a locator, or a cartographer. You don't mind. You get paid.

It’s not a job like governing a town, but you don’t mind. You get paid.

You guess ability to see places that you're not in is actually useful besides being gawked at trolls wondering why you, a highblood, has such an ability.

You remember someone saying about a seafaring ceruleanblood who can control minds.

An acquaintance hands you a plate of grubsauce curry and a tiny glass of water.

 _"Kerasi Maalie. The Silverclaw. 29 sweeps, female. Tealblood. Dornashi district."_ she says.

_"29 sweeps? Don't get that much often."_

_"Yeah. The client wanted an indigoblood for some reason. Gave extra. And Genrai has an oinkbeast in his thermal hull."_

_"It's fridge."_ There's that familiar feel of flying through space when you use your ability. You suppose you call it your second vision. There's already a definition for vision twofold. What was it called? Ah. It was called wandering vision, you remember. _"And Desserielle's gonna get caught in about...four or three minutes? If the mudblood doesn't trip on the lawnfork on the stairs."_

 _"Acknowledged. And don't shove your highblood slang down my throat."_ She jokes, and walks toward the door. "By the way, Madam Polixe says not to loot the hive, except in the circumstances you find a PEN collar." She then shuts the door.

_"...PEN collar."_


	2. Chapter 2

**== > Happy Wriggling Day!**

You wake up on a rainy night. What day is it? There are supposed to be noises from your device at this time. You climb out of your recuperacoon and walk over to your huskcomputer.

Oh yeah! It's your wriggling day. Happy 24th wriggling day. Happy aniversary of not being killed on this hellhole of a planet/The Heart of The Alternian Empire. Happy day of being officially an adult.

Madam Polixe gives you the evening to register your adult title, then head to her office for a meeting.

You head to the ablutionblock and look at yourself in the mirror. You with your slightly unkempt hair, your nearly-black rigid exoskeleton, your ringed, indigo eyes.

You are Seer Cosmaerulea.

==>

You are Seer Cosmaerulea, and you are 29 sweeps old.

You are currently walking away from the now-dead victim's hive, off to- what the fuck

A blur of grey and jade passes in front of your glance nuggets, and before you know it, a pair of fangs sinks deep into your skin.

Rainbow drinker.

==>

After the first unfortunate encounter with your current matesprit, she started frequently visiting you.

_"Your blood tastes so exceptional, Lea."_

She introduced you to her lusus, a hornwinged-hoofbeast.

Some of your dates involved you using your abilities in finding and skewering an unfortunate victim and taking their blood for her to drink.

What an interesting combination. She likes to scare townspeople and wrigglers, earning her the title of Ambuscade Nephrite. You once heard some rumors about "Ambuscade

Nephrite's highblood partner" or "Ambuscade Nephrite's matesprit".

But when that gets old, you take her to a highblood museum, have a lawnmeal with her lusus, or just watch the moonset from your window.

She soothes you when your head aches from overexerting your abilities.

Your touch renders her helpless. Her kiss brings you to your knees.

 ~~When she takes off her heft satchels-~~ this is not wriggler-friendly.

You sing to her, a habit picked up from your lusus.

You can see the galaxy in her eyes.

You love the strength she displays when she feeds.

You love the swirl of her horns, the curve of her fangs, and every edge and twist in her immaculate figure.

You love her smirk, her smile, her laugh.

She's flushed for you and you're flushed for her. She's your matesprit, and only yours.

**== >**

You're still embarassed that she ambushed you like that the first time.

It's not your fault rainbow drinkers are that fast.

You never thought that you would end up being matesprits with a rainbow drinker, but here you are.

You feel blessed. You feel higher than The Empress, nay, The Demoness.

**== > **

~~That was the best fuck of your life.~~

You decide to finally seek out a smithorrifier to commission to make a weapon for you and for your matesprit to use and for your descendants to inherit.

You're not that old in indigoblood terms. You still have many, many sweeps ahead of you.

You don't know why you let this task off for this long.

You guess you were caught up the business and training new members.

What kind of troll will your descendant be, you wonder.

You buy some chests that will contain these swords, objects, and notes for your descendant to use.

You buy more chests for your matesprit's descendant as well.

You are still far from the end of your natural lifespan, but it's best to be prepared.

**== >**

There's a troll cloaked in gray, preaching to a group of lowbloods. A blind prophet, perhaps? That would explain those scarlet eyes.

You've seen this troll before.

He wasn't blind.

**== >**

stupid stupid dumb fuck shit shit shit shit no empressdammit

You commissioned 4 new swords instead of one! Now you have to pay quadruple the price, not forgetting the fact that it was very expensive in the first place.

Very expensive.

Dear Empress. This is where your superiors would scold you.

Nevertheless, you set your sights on the best one out of the bunch. And name it ‘Partispada’.  A good sword needs a name, does it not?

Ancestors would pass on legendary weapons to their descendants, do they not?

Time to do something legendary.

**== > Legendary?**

You kiss your matesprit as the tiny lowblood hive-cluster burns behind you.

You never thought recovering that lost money would be easy.

**== >**

A blind lowblood laughs at you.

==>

_“Is that Arsonist Sapphire?”_

==>

The same gray-cloaked, nub-horned troll once again starts preaching in a village.

He is not blind. He is a mutant. Illegal, off-spectrum, and should be culled.

He comes with an unusual band, consisting of a runaway jadeblood, a feral oliveblood, and an escaped helmsman.

Their titles, The Dolorosa, The Disciple, and The Psiioniic.

The mutant is called The Signless.

He preaches of a "better world". A place where culled has a different meaning.  A place built on the foundations of care and support.

He preaches of love.

It sounds nice, to some. It gives a glint of hope to many lowbloods and some highbloods alike.

You strike these notions as foolish.

Your matesprit wants to stay and listen. You tell her not to listen to this delusional definition of cullbait.

But she insists.

==>

The place of short-lived lowbloods is servitude under long-lived highbloods.

This is “preacher” is incredibly ridiculous.

==>

You are Seer Cosmaerulea, and you are 40 sweeps old.

The Signless' Movement has been causing unrest amongst many, espescially highbloods.

He has amassed quite a following.

The Empress orders him cease these frivolities, but he refuses.

Most of the clients these days pay large sums just to kill certain lowbloods.

Lowbloods, you notice, which are key members of The Movement.

You can see the disappointment in your Nephrite's eyes whenever you come home from work.

You cannot retire from being a hitmenace. It has been your profession for 21 sweeps.

Or is that your highblood pride speaking?

These assasinations are getting very dangerous, with lowbloods victims becoming stronger, more defiant, and more resistant. You almost had gotten killed by a rustblood psionic had it not been for the intervention of the runt that was waxing black for you.

This movement is a pain in The Empire's collective ass.

You ask your matesprit to start hiding your descendants' chests of inheritance in the event that you don't live to see the day this damned movement ends.

_"It will end. And from the dust will rise a new empire."_

==>

You, along with 5 others, are sent to kill a group of mudbloods in a nearby district.

You see inside the hive with your second sense vision.

You see why they had to send a squadron of you.

_"All of them are psionics. Three in the relaxation block, one in the food preparation block, and one in the respiteblock."_

The Daggerswitch sneaks inside the hive. Your group follows.

You see a banner colored bright red. You doubt that it is hung to show patriotism to The Empire

As your group finds places for it to strike an ambush, a mudblood meets your gaze.

Fire is the last thing you see.

A jade, fanged grin is the your last thought.

==>

What happened to your group?

What happened to the movement?

What happened to your matesprit?

_It is a common practice for highbloods to leave storage cases called “inheritance chests” filled with memoirs and artifacts for their descendants, particularly at the end of their lifespan, a practice adopted by some lowbloods._

_The procedure may or may not be futile depending on whether or not the descendant survives grubhood._

What a shame. A highblood with many centuries ahead of her, dies at 40 sweeps. What kind of highblood are you? Firmly believing in the principles of hemocaste, when those lowblood rookies are going to live their lives more than yours. You should have survived that. Why are they so powerful?

 **== > Nights in the future, but not many…**  
A rainbow drinker flees to a desert hive, dragging a cart of belongings with her.

A sapphire chest gleams in the sunlight.

**== > Sweeps in the future, but not many…**

Three seven sweep-olds unearth their ancestor’s legacy.

**Author's Note:**

> Up next: either a drabble, maybe a songfic? idk. or "Upheaval"
> 
> -thats not the entirety of her life theres still the troll hellworld shenanigans every self-respecting troll goes through i swear  
> -i know mindfang was from the summoner's era but highblood lifespans??? maybe???  
> -alternia was a little bit looser back in the day  
> -oh boy the signless sure does know how to hide from tyrannical highbloods  
> -i have no idea how to write a matespritship  
> -FUCK THE ANCESTOR EIGHT-LETTER TITLE NAMING CONVENTION  
> -FUCK IT  
> -this was supposed to be really really short but here i am  
> -PEN collar credit: https://zeetrollplays.tumblr.com/post/156995653250/pen-collars  
> -a hornwinged-hoofbeast is an alicorn


End file.
